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Diadama Van Dyne 



/ 

Julia R. Parish 



Copyrighted 1899 


Thistledown 



TWO COPIES ^ 

“^ 7 . 

U»rary of Congress, 

Office of the 

, 27 1»?fi 

Register of Copyrights* 


\<\ 


49507 


Copyright 1899 

BY 

Julia R. Parish, Publisher 


SECOND COPY, 


PRESS OF 

JOHN P. LAMBERT 

BAY CITY, MICH. 


v/N^yJVj c V IN - 


I 


Biabama TRan ®£ne* 

My husband’s name is Paltire, and mine 
is Diadama. We have three children Mem- 
phramagog, called Memnon, aged nine, 
Mehitabel, seven, and Mary Minerva Alice 
Almeda Sis Van Dyne, aged four. Memnon 
is large, freckled, hair bordering on red, 
and he is not gentlemanly a bit. Paltire 
says that he takes after me as far as his 
hair and temper are concerned. He gener- 
ally makes that remark with his hand on 
the door knob, for I have fits. Mehitabel 
is a pretty girl, and sweet tempered. Mary 
Minerva Alice Almeda Sis Van Dyne is a 
little mischief. Paltire dyes to live and he 
often says that all he has to live for is to 
dye. For years in dingy rooms, we have 
been surrounded by dyeing. The ceiling 
and walls and floor are standing advertis- 
ments of my husband’s business. 


4 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE- 


Mehitabel is religious naturally. I don’t 
know how it came to be, but Paltire says 
his father’s brother’s wife’s sister went to 
church once when she was visiting relatives 
in New York. When it comes to boasting 
of religious antecedents, I can only remark 
that I have no such ‘ ‘aunties. ” So I let Pal- 
tire do all the religious and literary boast- 
ing. 

We are all at peace on this 20th of Janu- 
ary, 188 — . Memnon is pinching the cat’s 
tail; Mehitabel is tidying up the room; 
Mary is boxing the doll’s ears, and I am 
making corn cakes. I forgot to mention 
that Paltire is dyeing so that we can live. 

“Mother, I wish I could go to school,” 
Said Mehitabel. 

‘ ‘ Me do to tool too, ’ ’ Said Mary. 

I looked over to my two daughters. 
They are as prett}^ to me as any one’s girls, 
and I wondered if they ever could become 
scholars. The fact is the}^ have nothing 
decent to wear. 

Memnon has been to school enough to 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


5 


learn to spell k-a-t by sound, and it has 
expanded his mind wonderfully. 

Patlire spoke up, ‘ ‘ I must try and get 
you some clothes so you can go. 

“Oh, goodie! goodie!” shouted Mehita- 
bel, ‘ ‘ I want to go so bad. ’ ’ 

“ I want you to have better learning 
than either }^our father or mother,” Said 
Paltire. 

I knew they needed more than I had, 
but I did not feel quite so sure about 
Paltire; for he already knew too much for 
me. He says that women know nothing 
about politics, and that they need not bother 
their heads about religion for they have 
trouble enough without. My children and 
my house are generally out of order, we 
have one room for dyeing and living' and 
one for sleeping*, and it naturally narrows 
a woman down to live in such close quar- 
ters. 

On this bright morning a modest, pretty 
looking young woman knocked at the door. 
‘ ‘ A case of dyeing, ’ ’ I said to myself as I 
opened the door. 


6 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“Good morning-, are you the lady of the 
house?” 

“ I am the woman that lives in what there 
is of the house. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Have you any children? Oh yes, I see, ’ ’ 
as the three came trooping- up to the door. 

“Will you walk in?” 

“Thank you, yes; I came to see if the 
children go to Sunday School.” 

The children all looked at me and 
g-rinned, and Memnon stepped on Mary’s 
toes, at which she took offense and began 
to cry, Mehitabel in her loving way tried 
to quiet her and finally succeeded. 

“You’ll get paid for that young man,” 
I said, boxing Memnon ’s ears. 

“ Are these all your children?” 

“Yes, all except their clothes, ’ ’ and what 
on earth I said that for I do not know. 
She looked at me with a peculiar smile as 
much as to say that she didn’t see the re- 
lation between children and clothes. But I 
notice that, except to the mother heart, 
there is a very intimate relation between 
children and clothes; for the world sees the 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


7 


children’s clothes only, while the mother 
sees the children, clothes or no clothes. 

“Will you let your children come to 
Sunday school next Sunday?’’ 

‘ * I think I shall have to get them some 
decent clothes to come with, first. ’ ’ I 
spoke with some vim, for I felt sore because 
my children couldn’t go anywhere. 

She spoke with vim also. “Do you 
realize your responsibility as a mother? 
Are you teaching' your children about the 
future life? Are you preparing them to 
die?” 

“Realize my responsibilit} r as a mother! 
As if I don’t thrash some of ’em every day! 
Teaching my children about the future 
life! They haven’t learned the A B C of 
this life yet! Preparing them to die (dye)! 
Their father has dyed all his life, and 
they’ve seen him at it! .Not one of my 
children will take to dyeing!” 

“You do not understand me. I mean 
to depart from this world; to take off the 
flesh, to put on the robe of righteousness.” 

“Oh, what route do you take to depart 


8 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


from this world? Is it a long* journey? 
We haven’t much flesh to take off here, for 
it is hard times and most of Paltire’s earn- 
ings have gone to build Fleet Street 
church,” (she looked as though she didn’t 
believe me) “and that robe you speak 
about, I hope it is warmer than our old 
duds/’ 

“ I am a member of Fleet Street church. 
I did not know your husband ever went 
there.” 

“Oh, Paltire don’t go to church. He 
sends a hand. ’ ’ 

“Sends a hand! What do you mean?” 

I pushed her along, not gently, I confess, 
so she could look at the sign across the 
street — “ Sample Room” — and said, “Hon. 
A. A. Arnold, deacon of your church, owns 
that building and he represents my hus- 
band in the elegant church.” 

She looked at me curiously, and thought 
a moment, then she said: “I am sorry to 
lind you so careless and wicked. Let us 
pray. ’ ’ 

She dropped on her knees and said some- 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


9 


tiling - about the poor degraded family re- 
jecting - God and His holy word. Memnon 
pulled her hair and Mary tripped over 
her flounces. She g*ot up from her knees 
and looked real mad for a missionary. She 
handed me a bundle of tracts remarking - 
that she hoped I would read and profit by 
them. I let her out of the door with a cool 
“g - ood morning - , ” and put the tracts on the 
shelf. 

I never thoug'h of that bundle of tracts 
ag - ain until I saw Memnon making* them 
up for cig*ars to smoke as his father does. 
Paltire smokes and drinks, so our clothes 
and victuals are rather scarce. I just had 
time to grab one of the tracts before he 
lig-hted it, and I sat down to read what 
there was left of it. I could only find one 
sentence: “Set thine house in order; for 
thou shalt die and not live. ’ ’ 

I have a habit of letting - my work stand 
around. I am a little inclined to be satiri- 
cal toward Paltire on account of his dyeing- 
making - such poor living - . So I read the 
sentence to him with the remark that he 


10 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


had dyed for many years, and we had not 
half lived and therefore this was more than 
half true. 

“You idiot,” he roared, “don’t you 
know what that means?” 

Now I do know what it means, but I 
won’t tell Paltire. For all I could do, I 
could ’nt keep the first part of that sentence 
out of my mind. “Set thine house in 
order.” I cotild not dodge the fact that 
that part of it belonged to me; for I am 
the housekeeper. I sat for some time 
wondering how to begin to set a house in 
order that never had been kept so. The 
floor needed scrubbing — we have no car- 
pets; the stove needed washing — we have 
only one; everything* in the room, and that 
isn’t much, needed dusting. 

The children Paltire and myself, are 
ragg*ed and dirty. But one of the things 
most neglected is my spider. I put it away 
after warming up the potatoes, then scrape 
it out when I happen to get meat to fry ( I 
don’t have to scrape it out very often.) I 
sat discouraged wondering where to begin 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


11 


when a voice came to me — I shall always 
believe it came from Heaven, solemn and 
distinct: 

“Diadama, wife of Paltire, mother of 
Memphramag-og-, Mehitabel, and of Mary 
Minerva Alice Almeda Sis Van Dyne, wash 
that slider. ’ ’ 

I started quick and jerked that spider 
out from under the sink and went at it. 
I scraped it inside and out, and washed it 
on all sides. Prom that day on when I 
felt tempted to set it aside “just once,” I 
heard that voice as clear as a bell saying*, 

4 4 wash that spider. ’ ’ And will you believe 
it; the keeping- of that spider clean has 
made me a better wife and a better mother. 
I take it out with a feeling- of womanly 
pride and digaiity that I never felt before. 
It has been a silent text to me. 

It has set me to scrubbing- the floor, to 
combing- the children’s hair, to washing- 
the stove and to better cooking- of the little 
we have. It has helped me to overlook 
more of the children’s capers than I ever 
used to do. When I began to dawdle 


12 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


around, and leave my work undone, it 
speaks in iron tones, as only an iron spider 
can and I don’t quite dare to be careless 
about my duty. We would get on com- 
fortably if it were not for the drinking- and 
smoking of Paltire. We live in a row of 
old tenement houses, handy by the “sample 
rooms’’ kept by Cy Allen, and owned by 
the Hon. A. A. Arnold, deacon of the Fleet 
street church. 

I saw in an old paper a piece headed 
“Noble Giving ’’ in which it said that the 
Hon. A. A. Arnold gave one year’s rental 
to this church, §10,000 in cash. He owns 
buildings all over the city. 


II. 


personal liberty* 

“Are you going out to-night, Paltire?” 

“Yes, what do you want to know for?” 

I had the spider clean and was trying to 
make the most of us as far as I could and 
that wasn’t far. 

“What’s going on to night?” 

“A meeting over in the sample rooms in 
the interest of personal liberty. ’ ’ 

“I wish you would ’nt go to these meet- 
ings.” 

“You git ! ’ ’ Paltire ends all arguments 
with these expressive words. 

I was mad at Paltire for disregarding 
his wife. I was mad at the stuck up 
deacon who owned the building; I was mad 
at a country that allowed such wholesale 
gobbling up of poor fools like Paltire. I 
kuow it is said that women should ’nt med- 
dle with politics, but I tell you the politics 


14 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


of our city meddle with the women, even 
taking the bread out of their mouths. I 
knocked on the side of the room, the signal 
for Mrs. Sam Jones to come in. She lives 
in the next room — she came in. 

“Has Sam gone out this evening ? ” 

“Yes, are you alone?” 

“Yes, Paltire has gone to the Personal 
Liberty meeting.” 

“So has Sam. Diadama I wish they’d 
all sink together.” 

‘ ‘ Then, Lucinda, we would be widows. ” 

“It is getting worse and worse every 
day. Sam is so ugly I darn’t say a word 
to him. ” 

“Well, I do talk to Paltire for he can’t 
hurt me much more than he has already. I 
feel that I am going to make a move to do 
something one of these days. ’ ’ 

“Let’s go over and peek into the win- 
dow. Thej^’ll be too drunk by this time to 
know us. ’ ’ 

“Come on” I said: We threw our 
shawls over our heads and started out. 
They had raised a window to let out the 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


15 


fumes of whiskey and tobacco. Right by 
this window is the hydrant with a hose on, 
the very one from which I had asked Mr. 
Arnold to let me have water free outside 
as my husband got so much drink inside at 
such an enormous expense. You ought to 
have seen the way he glowered down on me. 

Lucinda and I crept close to the windows 
just in time to hear one of the speakers. 
This window was back quite a distance 
from the streets on a sort of an alley and 
it was all dark there. 

Paltire Van Dyne was making that 
speech. The crowd sat there with a stupid 
gaze and he had to lean against the coun- 
ter; he could not stand alone. “My boon 
companions, we are (hie) gathered (hie) 
here in the interest of personal liberty; let 
the (hie) voters take (hie) care now they 
snatch it from us; for we’ll (hie) drink if 
it kills us. ” 

“Hoorar” shouted the crowd, “we’ll 
drink or die. ” 

Just then Paltire gave a lurch forward, 
overcome, not by eloquence, but by bad 


16 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


whiskey, and fell flat on his face, a glorious 
example of personal liberty. The crowd 
darted forward to help him. Sam Jones 
fell on to the stove and then g*ot swearing 
mad at Pete Sykes. Sykes gave Sam a 
black eye. The personal liberty of every 
one was aroused, and m}^ how they fought. 
They smashed bottles, broke lamps, chairs 
and tables and then finally, so beastly 
drunk that they could ’nt fight any longer, 
they subsided and began to lop over on 
benches and lie about on the floor. I whis- 
pered to Lucinda. 

“Let’s revive their personal liberty with 
a stream of cold water. ’ ’ 

She laughed and said: “All right.” 

1 said wickedly, but softly as I put my 
hand on the hydrant to turn the water on. 
“It’ll do ’em good to have some cold water 
arguments. ” 

There was a fire in some part of the city 
so there was a tremendous pressure on. 

‘ ‘ Lucinda, you quietly put that hose un- 
der the window, and we’ll see what influ- 
ence, women can have on the cold water 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


17 


side of the question. Aim it right square 
at Paltire’s head, and then turn it quick 
on Sam’s black eye. Let’s give the strong- 
est part of the temperance lecture to our 
own family.” They were all drowsy and 
breathed thick like. Once in a while one 
of them would utter an oath. 

Lucinda whispered “Ready.” 

4 1 All right here goes my first temperance 
^lecture. ” 

Paltire sat there with his mouth wide 
open as he always does when he is drunk, 
and the first spurt of that stream went 
clean down his throat. She then turned 
it into Sam Jones’ black eye. 

Lucinda and I both laughed quietly, 
left the hose and hurried home. We had 
no more than reached there when in came 
Paltire and Sam out of breath, wet as 
drowned rats and half scared to death* 
They looked behind them as if demons were 
following them. I had composed myself 
unusually quick for me, and I hoped in my 
heart that Lucinda had. 

“ What on earth is the matter, Paltire?” 


18 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“Oh, the devil has been pouring a stream 
of whiskey done my throat. ’ ’ 

“Paltire you’re drunk ! ” 

4 4 Hic-I know it but it was that last dose 
that did it.” He looked very pale and 
shivered as if cold. 

“Paltire, I know what ails you, you’re 
scared; but you’ve got an attack of per- 
sonal liberty and no doubt personal liberty 
gave you that last dose. ’ ’ 

“You great fool, ’ ’ he roared. 4 4 Personal 
liberty is not a disease hic-it is-hic-hic-a 
sort’er principle like.” 

“Oh!” I said meekly, “It can’t be a 
ver}^ dry principle by your looks. It will 
drown you yet, soul and body. Paltire 
Van Dyne just look at yourself. You’re 
wet inside and out with personal liberty.” 

His bath had sobered him somewhat and 
he began to get mad. He said, “You git,” 
and went off to bed. 

***** 

Two years later. It was a time of spec- 
ial political excitement. Mr. Arnold was 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


19 


up for mayor of W — . The papers said he 
was a good upright temperate (?) Christian 
(?) man. I thought of how mad he got 
when I asked for free drink outside of the 
sample room and I laughed in my sleeve 
when I thought how freely that drink was 
distributed through the hose. 

One day near election time, a beautiful 
carriage, drawn by a fine span of horses, 
drove up to our tenement house. A noble 
looking woman stepped out with a bundle 
of papers in her hand. She went to see 
Lucinda Jones first and as she came out I 
heard her say. “Now be sure and come 
and bring your husband.” Then she came 
to our door. She was certainly beautiful 
and I admire beauty in others if I haven’t 
any to brag of myself. 

‘ ‘ Do you go to church ? ’ ’ she asked. 

I stammered “no.” She looked so loftly 
that I felt almost afraid to look at her or 
to speak to her. 

“Well, we want you to come to the 
Fleet street church to-morrow evening at 
half-past seven sharp, to supper. Bring 


20 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


your husband sure. Don’t mind if you 
can’t dress up, you and your family will be 
welcome.” 

She put a tract in my hand called “ The 
Sin of Strong- Drink.” 

‘ ‘ What’s your name, ma’am ? ” I asked, 

4 4 1 am Mrs. Arnold, no doubt you have 
heard of my husband,” she said, smiling 
sweetly. 

‘‘Oh, yes, he owns this sample room 
over the way where my husband spends all 
of his money. They tell me he owns lots 
of sample rooms in the city. ’ ’ 

She looked up angrily and I did not look 
at all loving at her. 

Paltire came home at noon rather drunk 
but very much elated. The Hon. Mr. 
Arnold had met him, smiled, bowed, shook 
hands, yes, actually shook hands and had 
dropped ten cents into his hand — just the 
price of a drink mind you, saying, “It 
might get you some little luxury you could 
not otherwise afford, ” and he smiled and 
looked over toward the sample room and 
winked ! Yes that good deacon actually 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


21 


winked. My husband understood that 
wink to mean a drink so he got it. Mr. 
Arnold did not forget to ask him to vote 
for him at election time. I said to him: 

“Paltire, old Arnold cares no more for 
you than he does for a cur. All he wants 
is your vote. ’ ’ 

“And he’ll get it too,” said Paltire, the 
great idiot. 

“But the paper says he’s a temperate 
man.” 

“Yes,” said my husband with a leer, 
“but he winks.” 

“He may interfere with your personal 
liberty.” 

“Look ’ere, Diadama, there is a class of 
men as keep sober and do not take a drink 
like us poor dogs, and yet we know ’em as 
men what wink. Do you see? They don’t 
propose to meddle with our stomachs and 
from what I saw of Mr. Arnold this morn- 
ing he’s my man. Good, upright, temper- 
ate, Christian man.” 

“A woman called here today and invited 
us all to Fleet street church to supper to- 


22 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


morrow evening and she gave me this 
tract and wanted you particular to read 
it,” I said significantly as I handed him 
the ■ ‘ Sin of Strong Drink. ’ ’ He began to 
read, “wine is a mocker, strong drink is 
raging and whosoever is deceived thereby 
is not wise. ’ ’ 

“Say, Diadama; that must have been 
wine a mockin’ me the other night; it came 
near choking me to death.” (One drink 
makes him talkative.) “I thought I had 
come to the end. My! such a force pour- 
ing down my neck. Cy Allen said that 
the whole of ’em was soaking wet and 
awful scared, it came so sudden, but they 
found that some boys had turned on the 
hose. I don’t want such a stream pouring 
down my throat again.” 

“No, it is’nt safe if you’re already full, 
for you might run over,” I suggested 
mildly. 

Paltire gave me one of his queer looks 
and went on reading his tract. It was 
quite long and had some big words in it 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


23 


but the idea is this, let the nasty stuff 
alone for it is pizen. 

Memnon is eleven years old. He smokes, 
chews, swears and cuts up generally, but 
I have hoped he would avoid drink. But 
the day that the supper was to be given at 
Fleet street chtirch, trouble came to our 
family. Paltire went over to the sample 
room and took three or four editions of per- 
sonal liberty, then got into a fight and 
ended with a gash in his head and a broken 
leg. Sam Jones and Cy Allen brought 
him home and Cy went out with a brutal 
laugh. Sam was more sympathetic and 
went for a docter, who pronounced the 
case one of a broken head and a broken leg. 
He might have said “producing in the wife 
a broken heart. ’ ’ 

But this was not the worst of the day’s 
trials. The doctor had just got Paltire’s 
head and leg set and had ordered whisky for 
bathing the injuries, whiskey to put into his 
gruel, and whiskey to keep me up, when — 
bump against the door fell Memnon — my 
only boy, eleven years old, drunk! and aderi- 


24 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


sive laugh went up from the sample room 
opposite. 

For just one little instant my heart stood 
still and then upon the wrecked altars of 
all that is left to me of a home, I vowed 
that I would take to the lecture field. 
After a while Memnon threw up three or 
four pints of personal liberty. I got Pal- 
tire on a cot and fixed for the night, then 
said to him. “Paltire, I am going over to 
the supper for a few minutes. I don’t 
want a mouthful to eat but I am going. ’ ’ 

I knew he could ’nt help himself so I felt 
quite bold and I meant to improve my op- 
portunities while he was helpless. Mehit- 
abel, like a good girl* said she would mind 
father and the baby. Memnon started up 
and said, 44 1 am going, too.” I could ’nt 
help myself so I let him go. On our way 
an idea struck me. Under a gas light I 
saw a poster at the top of which in large 
black letters were the words Personal 
Liberty. The call was for the meeting like 
the one where I delivered my first temper- 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


25 


ance lecture, and they were painted on 
cloth to stand the weather. 

I hastily took it down, and patting- my 
boy on the shoulder, asked him to stop a 
minute, and I pinned these two words on 
his back. He was so drunk that he did 
not know what I was about so we marched 
into the parlors of the Fleet street church. 
The Hon. Mr. Arnold was marching- up 
and down the room, smiling- and chatting 
and asking all the men folks to vote for 
him. 

4 4 What does this mean?” He said an- 
grily as he stepped up to my boy to take 
the words off his back. 

I walked up and said. 44 No you don’t, 
that’s my boy.” 

44 A pretty specimen,” he growled. 

“ Yes, sir; he got his finishing touches 
at your sample room to-day. 

“What do you mean?” 

44 1 mean that he got drunk in your sam- 
ple room to-day. 

“I have no sample room.” 

44 Yes, you have, and these are the sam- 


26 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


pies you send out. If you come with me 
I will show you another — a husband with 
a broken head and a broken leg-, and a 
family with nothing for breakfast.” 

“Hush, my good woman, don’t talk so 
loud, every one is looking at you. Here are 
live dollars to help you through, but do 
take that ridiculous paper off from the 
boy’s back. ” 

“I don’t want your money, I’ll starve 
first. My husband and son are standing 
advertisements; that is, they would be if 
they were not too drunk — of the use you 
put your building's to.” 

“I shall ask for your removal, if you 
talk so loud. ” 

He was red in the face and I led the be- 
sotted boy off to a corner of the room. He 
often glanced at us uneasily, and I took 
particular pains to turn the boy around so 
he might see a living example of his politi- 
cal principles. Btit you ought to see how 
mad he looked. “I’ll come up to you old 
fellow,” I vowed to myself. I took the 
words off from Memnon’s back and Mr. 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


27 


Arnold seemed relieved. We were all 
invited to supper, and after lie had said 
grace, we began to eat. “Poor Paltire and 
the girls,” I groaned to myself, “I wish 
they had some. ’ ’ 

When supper was over Mr. Arnold was 
called on for a speech. They cheered him 
tremendously and he smiled and said: “My 
dear brothers (just at election time) I want 
you all to be happy. I want you all to be 
good. The government of our fair city de- 
pends upon you voters. Will you vote for 
principles or for men?” (According to Pal- 
tire they’ll vote for principles, for if they 
vote for men they won’t get ’em.) “Now 
I promise you I will be true to the poor 
man’s interest. I’ll stand by you all the 
year if you will vote for me for mayor of 

W . Let the fair city of W take 

a step forward in temperance ’ ’ (he glared 
over at me with a frown) “and in every- 
thing to elevate the poor. 

During this speech I had quietly pinned 
the words again on Memnon’s back. Now 
I contend that a mother has a mother’s 


28 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


heart under all circumstances. The condi- 
tion of my husband and son made me unus- 
ually bold and as soon as they finished 
cheering*, I jumped to my feet and giving 
the Hon. Mr. Arnold a lig-htning* glance I 
turned my drunken boy around and said: 
“How many fathers here are going to vote 
for personal liberty? How many wives 
here whose husbands need personal liberty 
crutches before they can walk ? How 
many women know what they are going to 
have for breakfast ? On the north side of 

19th street, between M and F 

avenues, is the Hon. Mr. Arnold’s sample 
ro — . ” Here that gentleman jumped up 
and said. “Take that luney out.” — 
“ room, ” I shouted with all my mig*ht, as a 
burly policeman started toward me “and 
here’s one of his samples.” Memnon at 
this juncture laughed idiotically. I raised 
my hand to the policeman and said : ‘ ‘ Take 
care.” He started back, I went on. 

“I have a husband at home with a 
broken head, a broken leg, and I would 
have a broken heart if I was’nt so mad.” 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


29 


They hurried Memnon and me out of the 
room. The wind was blowing* a perfect 
gale, and it just took the words off from 
Memnon ’s back, and the cloth sailed to the 
top of that steeple and g*ot tang*led in some 
of the mason work and there they flapped. 

“I hope they’ll haunt the old scoundrel, ” 
I muttered as we hurried on to my desolate 
home. 

Paltire was mad because I had not 
brought the whiskey which the doctor or- 
dered, but I was bound that for a time at 
least, he should keep sober. He muttered 
something about paying me off when he 
got well, but I was too disgusted to care. 
I went to bed wishing I had something for 
breakfast besides corn cake made of salt 
and water, After breakfast I went out 
and found some washing, and by soft soap 
and hard rubbing, I managed to keep the 
souls and bodies of the family together. 
Memnon came home again in the afternoon 
drunk, but he said that it did not cost him 
a cent for Cy Allen treated all the boys for 


30 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


nothing*. As I stood washing* my spider I 
said. “O, Personal Liberty, you’re one of 
the devil’s best servants! ” 


III. 


legal IRestrlctlon. 

I came across these words in a paper 
which was wrapped around some old clothes 
which had been brought in to us. We are 
obliged to take them for I can hardly earn 
enough to keep us from starving. 

When I entreat Memnon not to smoke, 
chew and drink, for it takes money that 
we need for other things (he earns a little 
now) he coolly tells me to go to the de — , 
but I have been to both Cy Allen and the 
Hon. Mr. Arnold, and that is all the good 
it does. 

‘ ‘ Leg-al restriction on the sale and man- 
ufacture of whiskey. ” Paltire swore that 
I did not pronounce it right, he said it was 
not legal, but I told him I knew better. 

“Now Paltire, look at your leg — . I’d 
like to know if that is’nt a decided leg-al 
restriction on your getting drunk?” 


32 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


He started as if to knock me over, but 
there was such a decided leg-al restriction 
that he howled in pain. 

Lucinda Jones as well as myself had 
seen better days, and one of her remnants 
of better times was a dictionary. I thought 
of that and after I had got the spider clean 
I knocked at her door. 

“Good morning, Lucinda, I want to see 
your dictionary. ’ ’ 

“Now, what are you up to? ” 

“I’m down to the bottom of this sub- 
ject,” I said with a great deal of dignity. 

“What subject?” she said laughing. 

I held out the paper to let her see the 
words. 

“Are you sure you understand these 
words, Diadama ? ’ ’ 

“Have’nt I a dying example of them at 
home now ! I have a theory about these 
words, or one of them at least, and let me 
tell you before we look in the dictionary. 
Words to be understood must be taken 
apart, just as you tear up an old coat to 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


33 


make another. You and I are good at 
that, Lucinda. Now notice. ” 

I spelled the parts on my fingers to make 
the subject clear, if such a thing is possi- 
ble in regard to the word legal. 4 4 L-e-g- 
you and I both know what that means, no 
use of mincing matters — legs are our foun- 
dation — upon them we stand — now don’t 
we? Show me the man or woman who 
walks without legs and I will show you 
the man as keeps sober when he can’t 
walk. ” 

Lucinda laughed. 

I continued : 4 4 One week ago yesterday 

Paltire had his last drink. All — pro- 
nounced awl — meaning the whole. Now 
if a person is very tall he is all leg; but if 
he is very drunk he is leg-all-ly drunk. 

Lucinda roared. 

We found 44 restriction, — confinement 
within bounds.” 

“There!” I exclaimed, 44 Is’nt Paltire 
confined within bounds? Not only that, 
but his leg is confined in bands. 


34 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


Lucinda and I laughed to our hearts dis- 
content. 

As I went to my room I was astonished 
and alarmed at the strange appearance of 
them all. Mehitabel was as white as a 
ghost — Memnon lay in the corner drunk — 
that was’nt so strange. Mary was scream- 
ing at the top of her voice, and Paltire 
looked awful mad. He pointed to the 
table upon which lay a white envelope. I 
took up the envelope and read: 

Fleet Street, Feb — 188— 
Mrs. Diadama Van Dyne: 

Madam — 

If you don’t send that cur of a 
boy of yours to the top of the steeple and 
take down the infernal words “Personal 
Liberty’ ’ I will have you arrested. No one 
but that worthless young rascal could 
climb there, and there it hangs in plain 
sight of everybody. We can’t look out of 
the window at home without seeing it. I 
know where you live and you are in my 
power. I have hired a man to dog your 
steps until that is down. 

A. A. Arnold. 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


35 


Pal tire growled, “Now, what are you 
going to do?” 

“Paltire, that’s the best temperance 
lecture except one I ever delivered. ’ ’ 

“Well, what are you going to do?” 

I did not answer for I did not know. In 
a few minutes Lucinda came in and I told 
her about the letter which she read. It 
did make me afraid to think of some one 
sneaking after me in the dark. Lucinda 
told me to go with her into her room and 
as we went in she closed the door. Sam 
Jones is a painter by trade, but of late has 
spent all of his skill on the end of his nose. 
In the corner of the room sat a bucket of 
red paint. Lucinda laughed and pointed 
to that paint and said: 

“Diadama, I’ll stand by you. Maybe 
we can lecture with that paint.” 

I started out after food and having 
heard that there was a temperance paper 
in W — called the Temperance Bulletin I 
went there and gave the editor the letter. 
I don’t know why I did that. He read it 
over and called to another man, saying, 


36 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“Here’s richness for you! Print this and 
strike off ten thousand extra copies of the 
Bulletin. We’ll have a little item at his 
expense, ha, ha! Personal liberty is too 
high for you, Madam; don’t try to get it 
down. Ha, ha, ha! he has to swallow that 
every day, steeple and all.” 

I told them how the sign blew up there 
off from my own besotted boy’s back. The 
editor asked my name and address and 
asked that he might keep the letter for a 
time. 

I had twenty-five cents and with that I 
bought corn meal — all we had to eat ex- 
cept salt. On my way home I noticed an 
evil-looking man following me. My heart 
leaped to my throat; I muttered to myself 
“This is the Hon. Mr. Arnold’s hired 
man. ’ ’ He saw me go into the house and 
I felt discouraged. Lucinda came to see 
how I was going to get along, and we 
decided if he prowled around that we 
would put some leg-al restriction upon 
him. Lucinda is a powerful woman and 
I am gritty and have lots of clothes-line. 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


37 


How like a murderer it makes you feel 
if you think some one is dogging your 
tracks. It makes you feel guilty if you 
are as innocent as a new-born babe. The 
day wore heavily away; Paltire kept up- 
braiding me for my “ Tomfool nonsense;” 
Memnon was insolent, Mehitabel was sad, 
and Mary mischevious. I almost gave 
out after supper and was tempted to put 
the spider away unwashed, but the voice 
— it came to me quietly — said “Wash that 
spider. ’ ’ I washed it and my courage re- 
vived, for that old spider is helping me to 
bear the burdens of living, as Paltire can’t 
bear any of these burdens by dyeing. In 
the evening Lucinda called me to her room. 

“Diadama, look out of this window.” 

I looked stealthily out and saw the man 
sitting with his back to the door. She 
stirred up the paint, remarking “I wish 
it was old Arnold, himself.” 

I untied the clothes-line and got it in 
readiness for use. We stood by the door 
half afraid and much more than half mad. 
He went away for a few minutes. 


38 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“Perhaps he’s gone for somebody else,” 
I said. 

We watched out of the window and saw 
him soon coming back. He had been into 
the sample room. 

“Now’s our time, Lucinda, get your 
paint ready. ’ ’ 

“Yes; is the clothes-line all right?’’ 

“All right, he’s close to the door now. 
Come on.” 

We spoke in whispers and clutched each 
other by the arm. 

“Now, we must be bold, Diadama. ” 

“All right.” 

I opened the door quietly, Lucinda fol- 
lowing close with her pail of paint. He 
was again sitting on the steps with his 
back to the door, and before he heard us I 
had slipped the rope over his body — he 
was rather tired since he came from the 
sample room and a little bit unsteady. 
He started up, but Lucinda threw her 
weight upon him, 275 avoirdupois, I think. 
In the struggle that followed she held him 
so firmly that I bound both his arms and 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


39 


legs. He cried “Help!” but Lucinda put 
her hand over his mouth. 

“Now for the paint!” I said all out of 
breath. 

She took the paint brush and daubed his 
hair, whiskers and clothing with the 
paint. 

“Wait a minute,” said Lucinda, ex- 
citedly, “I have a motto in the house 
which I painted to-day just for practice 
you see, ’ ’ and she darted off into the house 
and brought out a strip of white cloth 
with great red letters on it; “Legae Re- 
striction.” This we pinned onto him 
and gave him by no means a gentle poke 
as he rolled cursing and howling down to 
the foot of the steps. We hurried in, all 
in a tremble, for we had been considerably 
wrought up delivering this lecture and 
had waxed warm as the argument pro- 
ceeded; we had literally covered the entire 
subject, and had closely clinched every 
part by a most logical rope (we had no 
chain) of argument. 


40 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“Has anyone been hear?” said Paltire, 
quaking with fear. 

“Ye-es, someone has been and gone,” I 
said as soon as I could get my breath. 

“Hark!” said Mehitable, “Oh, that 
awful man is coming.” There was a 
tremendous noise at the door. 

“Diadama, we’ll all be killed,” whined 
Paltire, “Just for your nonsense.” 

“Paltire! I shall always lecture on tem- 
perance,” I said, excitedly. 

He was too much frightened to say any 
more. A crowd gathered and soon a 
heavy stern knock came to the door. 
Lucinda ran into our room and we all 
trembled with fear. The children cried 
and Paltire looked awful scared. Pretty 
soon bang came the door broken open, and 
in rushed a crowd of men. A great ugly 
policeman rushed up to me and said: 

“Did you help tie this man up?” 

I answered with considerable spunk 
“Yes, sir; I won’t lie if I am a politician.” 
“You are my prisoner,” he said sternly. 
A second policeman walked up to Lucinda 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


41 


and asked the same question. She an- 
swered up kind-er sassy-like: “I’m happy 
to say I did. ” 

“You women will lodge in -jail to- 
night. ’ ’ 

The children screamed and Paltire sat 
there so helpless like that it did seem hard 
to leave them. I was thinking over like 
lightning what an expensive luxury it is 
to lecture on temperance by illustration, 
when I saw pushing their way through 
the crowd Mr. Arnold and the editor of the 
Temperance Bulletin, with a few other 
gentlemen. My heart stood still with 
fear, but the sight of the editor encour- 
aged me somewhat. He talked very 
earnestly to the policeman for a minute 
and then took an envelope out of his 
pocket. He went up to Mr. Arnold and 
asked him if that was his writing. Mr. 
Arnold grabbed for the letter but the 
editor was too quick for him, and putting 
the letter back in his pocket, he said: 
“See here, Arnold, you’ve injured this 


42 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


woman enough without sending her off to 
jail. Let her go!” 

The policemen drew back and the kind 
faces of the gentlemen who came with the 
editor were ablaze with indignation. They 
let us go and went out to Mr. Arnold’s 
“hired-man.” Scared as we were we 
went to the door and listened. 

“Come, boys; untie this man.” 

The bound man growled “If I catch 
Arnold I’ll pay him for getting* me into 
this scrape.” 

“What’s this?” said one of the men 
holding his lantern near the flaming red 
letters. They began to spell slowly L-e- 
g-a-1 r-e-s-t-r-i-c-t-i-o-n (just here a 
strange thing occurred, while I was 
writing* these letters out my pen dropped 
out of sight into the ink bottle, into a 
darkness as dense as the blackness of 
night. I fished it out with two sulphur 
matches and it was down so deep in this 
black ink and it took so much time to find 
it that I will omit to record the oaths and 
jeers that followed. There is too much 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


43 


blackness and sulphur about the whole 
thing any way). “Boys, how is this for 
an item?” 

The Hon. Mr. Arnold began, “Gentle- 
men, you are unfair. You can’t connect 
my name with this affair at all.” 

“How about personal liberty when you 
dog this poor woman about?’ ’ said one. 

“Or legal restriction when your hired- 
man gets bound down?” said another. 

“Or how low down has legal restriction 
brought its victim, both in the house and 
out of it?” 

“I’ll tell you boys, this illustrates 
license both hig*h and low.” 

“Who’s the most responsible? The 
man who sells the whiskey or the man 
who rents his buildings for selling it?” 

A loud yell and hissing went up from 
the crowd as they went away. 

The next morning Lucinda found a 
paper on our steps, and her eagle eye 
found the following item: 


44 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


A GLARING CASE OP INGRATITUDE. 

“Last evening- the Hon. A. A. Arnold 
was made the victim of the viciousness 
and meanness of a vulg-ar crowd who had 
cong-reg-ated around a low tenement house 
on 19th street. The woman in the case is 
a low-lived creature to whom Mr. Arnold, 
in his g-enerosity, has shown many kind- 
nesses. Such is the ingratitude of this 
class of people that the less you do for 
them the better.” 

In the afternoon Lucinda brought in a 
copy of the Temperance Bulletin . The 
item just quoted was in, then the letter, 
word for word, which Mr. Arnold had 
written to me, and a truthful description 
of the affair. The closing sentences of 
the article were “Let the honorable gen- 
tleman learn that votes like all other 
moral actions, when illustrated, come 
home with very unpleasant effects some- 
times. It is hoped that the steeple of 
Fleet street church will be blackened 
with these words until he shall close his 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


45 


dozen sample rooms which are the direct 
cause of the poverty and viciousness 
which he affects to despise.” 

I have delivered no temperance lectures 
since, for I have been too tired and my 
family have been too hungry. If it were 
not for the little recreations that have 
come to me from these lectures life would 
be nearly unbearable. 

[Note— The above lectures were contributed to the W. T. P. A. 
several years ago and are reprinted by permission.— J. R. P.] ( 


IV. 


(Christmas. 

The December winds are howling 
through the casements of our cold and 
cheerless room — the skies are dark and 
there is a blackness over my heart more 
dense than the clouds. It is December 18, 
18 — ; a little less than a week and Christ- 
mas will be upon us. Paltire, my hus- 
band, does nothing and therefore we 
scarcely live. Memnon, my drunkard 
boy, thinks the world owes him a living 
and I can’t convince him that he is getting 
mighty skimpy pay. Mehitabel is quiet, 
patient and usually cheerful, but she is 
growing pale and weak. Mary never 
bothers about anything and takes life 
easy. We have papers to read now and 
then and we know that the great world 
outside our home is merry in anticipation 
of the Christmas festival. I have washed 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


47 


every day in the week for a month and 
have tried my best to lay up a bit to make 
my children for once in their dreary life 
have a happy time. I have succeeded in 
saving- one dollar, and that will be twenty- 
five cents apiece for Paltire, Memnon, 
Mehitabel and Mary. Yes; I’ll try 25c 
worth of kindness on Paltire and Memnon. 
Maybe they will try and do better and be 
some help with their earnings (they earn 
very little), a dime now and then would 
lighten my burden so much. 

“Oh, it is cold here,” said Mehitabel, 
as she shuddered. 

“I wish we could have something like 
other folks,” whined Memnon. 

“When I am a bid dirl I’ll have some 
warm shoes, ’ ’ said Mary. 

It was early morning and Paltire 
crawled out of bed and with uncombed 
hair and unwashed face and hands asked 
in an angry tone if corn bread and water 
was all we had to eat in the house. 

“Yes; this is all I can afford this morn- 
ing.” 


48 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“No wonder we have no heart to do 
anything for }^ou. Memnon and I never 
have a decent meal,” he said in rising 
wrath. 

Memnon insolently said: “You drive 
me to the saloon for a free lunch every 
day, and you are to blame for my drink- 
ing, ’ ’ and with this he slammed out of the 
door. I just put in the last stick of wood 
to make things as cheery as I could; there 
was a dumb pain at my heart; I was too 
much down to resent or even to reply. 
Mehitabel was sick and I feared she might 
take more cold. Paltire soon left the 
house without his breakfast and three of 
us sat down to our desolate meal. of corn 
bread and potatoes and salt. I must go 
out after breakfast and spend the hard 
earned dollar for wood. Mary was cross 
and Mehitabel seemed restless. During 
this silent meal I was saying to myself 
* ‘ Am I to blame for this? Surely I work 
as hard as I can. I know I get awfully 
mad sometimes but how would an angel 
get along on an empty stomach in a cold 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


49 


room, with old rag’s for clothes and with a 
cruel husband and a worthless son. If there 
are any ang-els lying- around loose who can 
stand all this please just appear at this 
minute and help out poor me, for I can’t 
flutter a wing* this morning I am that beat 
out (here a vision of a turkey wing makes 
me long to get hold of one. The turkey 
wing, by the way, at this point would 
help me out more than the flutter of the 
angel’s wing). I am all earthly this 
morning for, to tell the truth, I and the 
children and the husband are hungry. 
The poor children can have no joyful 
Christmas, and I am so sorry, for I some- 
times fear that poor Mehitabel may never 
see very many. I’d like to have her have 
one real nice time before it is too late. 

“I am going to get some wood; stay 
near the stove, ’ ’ I said as I drew on my 
poor old shawl and started out to order 
wood before I went out to my day’s wash- 
ing. I found a load of poor timber, but it 
was cheap. “There is more poor timber 
than good for me,” I said with a shrug as 


50 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


I paid over the dollar. I hastened home 
with the load of wood ahead of me, fixed 
the fire, and cautioned poor Mehitabel to 
keep warm, and with a heavy heart 
started out to do my day’s washing. The 
rent will be due next week and Xmas day 
will be a holiday, all of the week’s work 
will go for rent except one dollar. I pay 
$4.00 per month for our crowded dingy 
two rooms. I washed for Mrs. C. on this 
Monday morning. She has three daugh- 
ters and they are about the age of my own 
poor little hungry children. Minnie, the 
oldest, Maggie, about the size and age of 
Mehitabel, and Alma, their baby, about 
the size and age of my little Mary. The 
two youngest told me all about their pres- 
ents for each other, for papa, for mamma, 
and for hosts of cousins. Dollars and 
dollars worth of presents were brought 
out and mysteriously shown to me. It 
seemed to me that I should fall into the 
washtub this morning and drown my 
trouble in soap suds, and, when Maggie 
said “What have you for your little girls 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


51 


at home?” my tears mingled with the suds 
and I pretended not to hear a word she 
said; I bent further over the washtub 
and made a big lot of splash that I might 
hear no more. Alma said, “Diadama, ” 
(you know wash women have only given 
names) “Don’t you wish your little girl 
was my mama’s little girl then she could 
have lots of nice things for Christmas? ” 
“Go away child, I can’t hear you the suds 
makes such a clatter. ’ ’ 

Mrs. C. told me of her trials; her second 
maid had given notice that she must leave 
the day before Christmas and what should 
she do with the Christmas tree and Christ- 
mas on hand. She seemed as much bur- 
dened as I did. I wonder how she would 
get on with my trouble this morning ? She 
asked could I come and scrub up the 
kitchen after I had finished washing for 
Mrs. Baxter? I thought with joy of the 
chance to earn a little extra for Christmas. 
The dinner made me heart sick. I wanted 
the children to have some of it, poor little 
things, and, as much as I needed the 


52 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


strength that the food would give me, I ate. 
very little. On my way home I saw the 
merry purchasers hurrying on with their 
bundles. I saw eager eyed children gazing 
in at the beautiful toys and goods of all 
kinds. Oh, for just a few of these bright 
toys! Maybe they would bring a little color 
to poor Mehitabel’s cheeks. That little wan 
face growing smaller every day haunts me. 
Poor little Hittie ! She is the only decent 
one among us and I rebel against her being 
So poor and sad. Does God see Diadama 
Van Dyne to-day I wonder ? Does He 
know how her own flesh and blood are 
actually dying for the necessities of life? 
I stood gazing into a window filled with 
beautiful things. A sleigh drove up with 
a gay and happy crowd, Mrs. Arnold and 
her family. How rosy and bright, well 
fed and well clothed they do look. 

Mrs. Arnold said: “Now we will get 
some toys for the Children’s home.” 

They seemed happy, joyous, careless 
and good. Mrs. Arnold is handsome, 
happy, light hearted and well cared for. 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE}. 


53 


Her children are bright, sweet, clean and 
polite. 

I, Diadama Van Dyne, have red hair and 
the usual temper to go with it. I am 
homely, poor, hungry, sad, shabby, un- 
happy, and my poor children are ill man- 
nered and not at all winning. Poor Mem- 
non is an awful looking boy. He surely 
has nothing to recommend him. Mehitabel 
is too puny to be interesting even if she 
had decent clothes. Mary is rompy, hot 
headed, and don’t care much. 

The toys were bought, many of all kinds, 
the money was paid and Mrs. Arnold 
stepped out to get into the beautiful sleigh, 
the children running ahead so free and 
careless that my heart ached worse than 
ever. The driver let go of the lines to 
help the beautiful woman step in. A horse 
driven by a drunken man came dashing 
along and ran into the sleigh. The jar 
so frightened Mrs. Arnold’s high strung 
team that they started off on a run and Mrs. 
Arnold was thrown to the pavement and a 
great gash cut in her beautiful forehead. 


54 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


The children screamed in the sleigh. 
The driver hastened after them but before 
they could be overtaken the sleigh upset, 
the children were thrown out with robes, 
blankets, packages, and one of them Bessie 
Arnold, about Mehitabel’s si^e was thrown 
with such violence against a statue of 
Bacchus on the corner, in front of the most 
stylish saloon in the city, that she was in- 
stantly killed! A great cry of terror and 
of pain went up from those who saw the 
accident. Men were sent in every direc- 
tion to find the drunken man who had 
caused it. 

Mrs. Arnold moaned with pain and was 
stunned by her awful fall. 

* ‘ Shoot the scoundrel if you can find 
him. ” 

“Hang him to the nearest lamp post.” 

‘ ‘ Shame, shame on the drunken driver. ’ ’ 
He had no business on Main street, said 
some one near me. 

“Which street would you put him on?” 
I said grimly. “I live on 19th, we have 
lots on ’em over there.” 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


55 


“Lots of what?” He said, mad like. 

“Lots of saloons, drunken drivers, chil- 
dren killed and runaway horses and cut 
faces. ’ ’ 

A well dressed woman said: “Oh my, 
but that is different you know. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How different madam ? ” I said with 
flaming- cheeks. 

She looked at me curiously and said: 
“Who are you?” 

“I’m a victim, just as that great lady 
is.” 

“Are you crazy, what do you mean? ” 
she said angrily. 

Just then a groan went up from the 
crowd. “ Bessie Arnold is dead. ” 

“Poor Mrs. Arnold,” said the woman 
who had been talking- with me. She went 
over to her and told her that Bessie mig-ht 
not live (that was kind), and then gradually 
it dawned on Mrs. Arnold that Bessie was 
really dead. They took the mother, the 
dead child and the living- children home 
out of sight of the crowd that they like 


56 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE}. 


other people might bear their griefs alone 
or with sympathetic friends. 

As I turned to go home I spoke to a re- 
spectable man who stood near me. 

“What does that picture on the corner 
represent. ’ ’ 

“That statue ! ” he said. 

“Yes, that stone statue of a man hold- 
ing a cup in his hand with the little boy 
tagging after him with a bunch of grapes 
and with a lot of leaves hanging on to him, 
and he seems to be out of clothes too. ’ ’ 

The man laughed hearty like and said 
good naturedly. ‘ ‘ Oh, that is the Palace 
Saloon sign. The figure is Bacchus, the 
god of wine. ’ ’ 

“What a pity,” I said more to myself 
than to him, “that Bessie Arnold’s blood 
should stain that god sign. ’ ’ (The statue 
was stained with the blood of the dead 
child.) 

“Who owns the building in which the 
Palace Saloon is ? ” I asked. 

“W’y ’er Deacon Arnold himself, I be- 
lieve. ’ ’ 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


57 


“More’s the pity that the blood of his 
own child should be on his own hands’’ I 
said solemn like. 

He started. “You’re hewing* pretty 
close, madam, are you not?’’ 

“Hewing* is not hewing* unless it hews 
something*,’’ I said and started home. 

I found Mehitabel had taken more cold. 
The children had been careless about the 
fire, and it seemed to me that the joy of 
Christmas week was not for such as we. 
The next morning* paper had with great 
letters the following*: “Bessie Arnold, 
second daughter of Hon. A. A. Arnold, 
instantly killed, all through the careless- 
ness of a drunken driver. His wife seri- 
ously injured. The rascal found. He had 
filled up on poor whiskey at Cy Allen’s 
low down saloon, on 19th street, and then 
proceeded to do the dreadful work which 
puts the city of W — in mourning. The 
law will no doubt give him punishment to 
the fullest extent, as Hon. A. A. Arnold 
is not only Mayor of W — , but a very 
prominent citizen. Men in that condition 


58 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


should stay in the poorer quarters of the 
city, for our valuable citizens cannot run 
such risk of life and limb. ” 

The evening- Temperance Bulletin put 
the following- in for me. It said: ‘ ‘ A rather 
queer looking-, red-headed woman, poorly 
dressed called to-day at the Bulletin office, 
and saying- that she was ambitious to earn a 
literary reputation, beg*g*ed of us to print 
the following- unique temperance lecture, 
as she calls it. She furthermore states 
that her reg-ular business is so pressing- 
just now that she has’nt time to take to 
the platform as she doesn’t see any in 
sig-ht handy. When asked her business 
she said it was a sort of reformatory work, 
being- the cleaning of clothes by soft soap 
and hard rubbing. Our readers will en- 
joy the perusal of it no doubt. 

KIDDED ON PRINCIPDE. 

License is right, therefore it is right to 
rent buildings for saloons, therefore it is 
right to sell whiskey, therefore it is right 
to get drunk, therefore it is rigffit to make 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


59 


the blunders all drunken people make, 
therefore it is right to kill other folks in 
these blunders be they beautiful women or 
lovely children or low down people, there- 
fore it is right to have palace saloons and 
low down saloons, therefore it is right to 
have a beautiful statue of the god of wine 
for a sign, therefore it is right that a run- 
away team, scared by a drunken driver of 
another horse, should dash an innocent 
child against this same Bacchus (which is 
right for a sign) and kill her instantly, 
and therefore, it is right that she should 
be killed by this rightly drunk man, 
rightly blundering, by rightly sold 
whiskey, in a rightly rented room, by a 
rightly enacted law — rightly licensing the 
whole thing with all that rightly fol- 
lows. ’ ’ 

***** 

It is the night before Christmas. I 
have worked like a slave all the week. 
My family do not know it, but I have gone 
without several meals to save a bit for the 


60 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


children. By close calculation and much 
extra work I have some candy — 10 cents 
worth, it is the cheapest kind; some nuts, 
10 cents; a doll for Mary; a 10 cent book, 
cheap paper cover, “Beside the Bonnie 
Briar Bush,” for Mehitable; a knife for 
Memnon, 15 cents; a new shirt for 
Paltire, 25 cents (I do hope he will spruce 
up a little), making- in all 70 cents. 

Bessie Arnold was buried yesterday and 
the entire city seemed to be in mourning. 
All places of business were closed — saloons 
and all. I have really felt sorry for 
Mrs. Arnold for she must feel pretty bad 
to think that the business for which her 
husband stands in politics (not in Fleet 
street church) was the direct cause of the 
death of her darling Bessie. Poor Mehit- 
able is too sick to sit up and she is 
wrapped in the warmest blanket I have. 
I have not much bedding. She has grown 
worse every day. Her eyes look so bright 
they scare me. I said to her “You shall 
have as good a Christmas as I can make 
for you, child, Mrs. Arnold will not have 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


61 


a very merry Christmas with little Bessie 
gone. ” 

“When will we see our presents? ” she 
asked. 

“To-night after supper,’’ I replied. 
Then with a strange far away look she 
said “I think this will be the happiest 
Christmas of my life, I have been so gdad 
to think that we are going to celebrate 
Christmas, and have presents, and be 
happy. If father and Memnon will only 
let drink alone for one day we shall all 
have such a good time. Mother, the nicest 
of all is that Christmas is for us as much 
as for anyone. It seems to me that every- 
thing will be better after this Christmas. ” 

She looked so happy and eager that I 
felt paid a million times over for denying 
myself food that “one nice Christmas” 
might come to our family. We were all 
happy because of the expected nice time. 
I thought with a sigh of how little there 
was for a nice time, but I consoled myself 
with the thought that I had done my best, 
but it did seem to me that I should feel 


62 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


bad if Memnon and Paltire and Mary 
found fault with my poor little gifts, for 
they had cost me toil, suffering and com- 
fort. Everything was merry outside, and 
we were happy in the house. Mehitabel 
seemed to be leading us all into a con- 
tented spirit. My own feelings softened 
toward the Arnold family, for were they 
not in trouble? For all of their riches the 
miserable drink curse had reached their 
home as well as it had mine. The liquor 
demon will not even spare his best friends, 
for Deacon Arnold has stood for it in the 
city. That isn’t fair. I believe there is 
nothing fair about the whole thing. My 
poor, frail Mehitabel has never had a de- 
cent Christmas, and this one won’t be 
much of a one either, but, * ‘ See here, ’ ’ I 
said to myself, “Don’t warm up on this 
subject, now; haven’t you lectured against 
it and done all you could to correct the 
evil; be quiet, Diadama, and have one rest- 
ful Christmas; you’ve been worked up 
most of your life. ’ ’ 

I prepared the supper, a scanty one, 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


63 


with a few cookies to tempt Mehitabel to 
eat. She tried to eat a little but she was 
“too tired,’’ she said, to sit by the table. 
I hurried the dishes away and brought out 
my poor little Christmas and spread it on 
the table. Mary was pleased with the 
doll, Mehitabel’s eyes sparkled over the 
“Bonnie Briar Bush,’’ Memnon said 
the knife was all right, and Paltire said 
he would dress up for Christmas. A 
wonderful solemn-like feeling seemed to 
come on us all. Paltire and Memnon 
did’nt go over to Allen’s, for Mehitabel 
said “Let’s all stay together to-night and 
maybe we will have a better Christmas.” 
We ate our candy, counted out to each one 
piece by . piece, only Mehitabel said she 
would keep hers till to-morrow. Mary 
and Memnon did all they could to wait on 
Mehitabel and I sat there looking some- 
how for a messenger. Someone was com- 
ing for something, and I watched Mehit- 
abel. She looked with loving eyes on her 
little book and finally she shuddered and 
lay back on her pillow. 


64 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


“Mother, is Christmas the birthday of 
Jesus?” 

“Yes; are you cold, Mehitabel?” 

“No, mother; did Jesus die for every- 
body?” 

“ Yes, ” I said, and I was scared like, for 
she looked so solemn and bright and wise, 
and I so unfit to talk about Jesus. 

“Did God give Jesus to us all for a 
Christmas present?” 

“Yes; are you feeling worse, Mehit- 
abel?” 

“Is this present for father and Memnon 
and you and Mary and me?” 

“Yes, for us all I think.” 

‘ ‘ But mother , 1 ’ her voice was so hollow 
and faint it seemed far away, “Why 
haven’t we had our present to keep?” 

“Why, child, I suppose because we have 
not accepted it; that’s all. It is not nice 
to refuse a present I think myself.” 

I was confused and worried, the un- 
earthly look on Mehitabel’s face struck 
me dumb. Even Paltire and Memnon 
listened to the child’s questions without 


DIABAMA VAN DYNE. 


65 


scolding* or making fun. It was now nine 
o’clock and the queer look grew more 
strange on her face. 

“Mother, I am so tired; can you hold 
me?” 

Hold her! I would have held her if I had 
died. She is not heavy now; I had her sit 
in my lap and in a weak voice she said, 
“Father!” she has not said much to him 
of late, he has been so gruff-like. He 
came up to her more gentle than he has 
been since he took to the Personal Liberty 
idea. 

“What do you want, Mehitabel?” 

“Don’t you want Jesus for a Christmas 
present?” 

“ Wy-er, I don’t know, your father isn’t 
worth a Christmas present, ’Hittie. ” 

“Oh, yes; He is a present for all; do 
take him father and then we will have 
such a happy Christmas, and you mother, 
and you Memnon, and you Mary. I-I 
have taken Him and-I-am-so-happy — ” 

She was gasping. I was trembling so 
I could scarcely hold her on my lap, and 


66 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


Paltire actually tried to steady me that I 
might not let her fall. He hasn’t steadied 
me much since we were married, so I have 
been unable to hold my own so to speak. 
But this Christmas Eve everything is 
different. No one is cross and ugly. 10 
o’clock, 11 o’clock, half-past 11, and the 
child seems restless. She is still in my 
arms. “Poor little girl; how do you feel?” 
I said to her. 

“So happy — the — ni-cest Christ — mas 
I — ever — had — good moth-er — to give — us 
pres-ents — and God’s — pres-ent — is best 
of all — I- will — soon see Je ” 

“Oh-h!” I groaned, for it dawned on 
me for a surety that Mehitabel, my main 
stay and comforter, was going to die. 
Fifteen minutes to 12 — we are watching. 
What for? For the Christmas bells. She 
opened her e}^es feebly and said “How — 
long — be-fore Christmas?” 

“Fifteen minutes; rest now, child.” 

“I am rest-ed — now.” She spoke in a 
whisper and I bent down to hear what she 
had to say. There was a rattling in her 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


67 


throat, a whiteness on her face and a 
brightness in her eyes. We were still as 
if waiting for something besides the 
Christmas bells. Suddenly the bells 
pealed forth in a joyful strain. Mehit- 
abel listened and a joy spread over her 
face like a soft fleecy veil, hiding the 
marks of pain, covering the wanness, thus 
making her a beautiful, restful, happy, 
satisfied-looking child. What my Mehit- 
obel might have been all of these years 
could we have made her nice times for 
Christmas.. She spoke feebly, “Christ- 
mas — has — come — Je — sus — is — mine — He 
leads — me home — so hap ” she hesi- 
tated, closed her eyes, gave a few feeble 
gasps and went away with her Christmas 
present to live, and I, the poor mother, 
though heart-broken and all beat out, felt 
a triumph in my heart, that one, at least, 
of my little ones had a bright Christmas 
home. She had the raiment of a redeemed 
one instead of her old ragged clothes. She 
had the Bread of Life instead of the poor 
unsatisfying food which I could buy for 


68 


DIADAMA VAN DYNE. 


her, and I was proud that my daughter 
should be ushered into the presence of God 
by the ringing of the Christmas bells. 
Who knows but when things are finally 
settled up we poor people will have a 
chance yet! 

Mehitable is now the “child of a king. M 



ftbistlebown, 

the: CHII^D. 

My earliest recollection of the thistle- 
down is at that time of life when I wore 
Turkey-red calico dresses, pink calico 
high aprons with long sleeves and broad 
ties in the back, and a stiff sun bonnet 
usually carried in my hands. 

I chased it in childish romp and in glee- 
some frolic and carried on many a conver- 
sation with the airy creature, making be- 
lieve that the same old thistledown came 
to me each time. As girlhood came and 
went, and more mature years have come 
and are going, I love still to pause when 
a thistledown appears and hold a restful 
conversation with it. In it I have seen an 
ideal, from its graceful soaring I have 
caught an inspiration, and its constant 
tendency to mount above the clouds has 
helped me a step or two heavenward. 

“Now I have you, my pretty, aha! oh-h! 


70 


THISTLEDOWN. 


I held you so tight that I lamed your 
wing.” A soft zephyr invited it just then 
to spread its wings, which were not seri- 
ously injured, and away it soared over the 
highest tree in the orchard, and over the 
pear tree, the most stately one near the 
house. 

“Oh, my!” up, up toward the beautiful 
blue sky, over the graceful elm which 
seems to bend that it may not hurt its 
tender wings. 

“Dear Downie, are you sailing up to 
find a nest in the great bank of cotton 
clouds? How I wish I might go with you 
and look down upon the orchard. ’ ’ A big 
man talks to me now and puts into words 
the thoughts unutterable for me. 

“The trees of the old orchard are bend- 
ing with luscious apples which are turned 
red, just as you are, by letting the sun 
fall upon them. We are children of na- 
ture and nature’s sun should shine upon 
us.” 

A red leaf falls upon the old well-worn 
Smith’s geography. It turns and sails, 


THISTLEDOWN. 


71 


then turns and quivers, and finally drops 
on the map of the world. 

“The world! I want to see the world. 
The big-, round world! I want to see 
beyond the hillside. ’ ’ 

To the north and east of this hillside 
stretch hills, valleys and forests; to the 
west the denser forest; to the north a 
back-ground of more hills. Under the 
sweet-apple tree apart from the orchard, 
on this quiet hillside, are studied the les- 
sons of the world in a book. “Geography 
is a description of the earth’s surface,” is 
repeated in childish prattle with variable 
intonation and emphasis, but with dreamy 
eyes watching- the fleecy clouds and long- 
ing- to know if the fragile thistledown has 
found a resting place away up so high. 
How grand things that are away off seem! 

“Come back to me, my little Downie, 
and tell me all about the sky. Is it God 
who draws these white clouds over the 
blue? Does He see a little girl like me, 
and does He know that I want to see the 
big world? Did He paint these trees and 


72 


THISTLEDOWN. 


hills such bright green and red and gold? 
I must see you, I shall always want to go 
to the sky if I never see you again. Poor 
old geography, I have marred and torn 
you, I have been angry with you, I 
must be better to you and learn what 
you say, for maybe I can soar away with 
my little sailor if I am good. * ’ 

The big man says: “The everlasting 
hills of God are radiant in vermillion and 
gold. The world will bring you knowl- 
edge with sorrow. * * 

FRACTIONS. 

“Fractions! fractions!” Mother said 
fractions, I am sure, when I grabbed pencil, 
arithmetic and slate, and, sunbonnet in 
hand, started for the sweet-apple tree to 
get fractions in my head. “A proper 
fraction is one whose numerator is smaller 
than its denominator. * * An improper frac- 
tion is one whose numerator is greater 
than its denominator. Here comes my 
darling Thistledown! “You have been so 
far; tell me of your journey. Do they 


THISTLEDOWN. 


73 


study fractions there? Do they bother 
with numerators and denominators?’ ’ 

The big* man heard and answered the 
vexed question and Thistledown never dis- 
puted it: “Yes, my child, they number 
the deeds done and they denominate them 
as good or as bad. ’ ’ 

“But why need I learn all of these hard 
lessons? What good will it do?” 

He said, gravely, “You must master 
hard things in order to learn the sterner 
lessons of life. Learn how to compute 
the blessings of life and to rightly name 
them, and you have mastered your frac- 
tional part in the problem of humanity. 
You must remember, child, that a fraction 
is not a fraction only as it is a part of a 
whole. Boundless life is that whole of 
which you form your own little part. The 
unseen — the beyond, holds for you many 
hard definitions which you must learn by 
heart before you fully appreciate their 
significance. 

I looked away into the sky and longed 
for power to fly rather than to be bothered 


74 


THISTLEDOWN. 


with my homely task. Up flew Thistle- 
down and became entangled in a spider’s 
web on the old tree. 

* * * * 

The sweet apples are falling and I sit 
among them to learn my lesson in Brown’s 
grammar, “A noun is the name of any 
person, place or thing that can be known 
or mentioned,” “A verb is a word that 
signifies to be, to act, or to be acted upon. ” 
I love my grammar and in glee I say, if I 
learn all about nouns I will know about 
all persons, places and things. I will 
study my verb right well and I shall know 
about being and action. I boasted to 
Thistledown, but it soared out of sight 
untrammeled by nouns or verbs, by declen- 
sion or conjugation, by case or tense. I 
longed for it to come back but was disap- 
pointed. 

The big man came sauntering along. 
“What is the lesson to-day, little girl?” 
“A lesson in my new grammar, leather 
covered, cost five shillings, bought by 
myself by walking two-and-one-half miles 


THISTLEDOWN. 


75 


and back. I boug*ht a new geography 
and atlas, and a Saunder’s Fifth Reader. 
I paid for them with a basket of eggs.” 
The ownership of these books adds dig- 
nity and importance to my uneventful life. 

“Child, you are doing well; you will 
find that nouns are only names, that verbs 
are not existence, that tense is not time. 
You say now with glib tongue, I love — I 
loved. Later you will say I do love; still 
later you will say I did love. You will ex- 
perience the actual occurence or fact, the 
conditions and the possibilities. The 
synopsis of the verb will be changed into 
the joy and suffering of more mature 
years. What you recite in glee to-day 
may be moaned in tears to-morrow. ’ * 

A beautiful apple falls into m}^ lap and 
I take it as a matter of course, and bury 
my teeth into its juicy cheek. 

.“Oh, Thistledown! you tell me gram- 
mar — it will be easier and pleasanter to 
learn? My big man makes it hard. ’ ’ I 
fling my grammar to the sod, stretch out 
upon my back, look up through the leaves 


76 


THISTLEDOWN. 


of the apple tree and catch glimpses of the 
ever mysterious sky. 

THE YOUNG WOMAN. 

I have come to long dresses, and they tell 
me that I must have the dignity which 
befits my years, I reluctantly try, but I 
rebel against the decree of a changed life 
for added years. It is years since I have 
had a restful talk with Thistledown under 
the older sweet-apple tree. But here we 
are, we two, my confidante and myself. 

“My faithful friend, you kept me look- 
ing up all through my childhood years; 
you hovered over Smith’s geography and 
Brown’s grammar, and now I introduce 
you to Robinson’s University Algebra, to 
Geometry; to these wonderful men — 
Caesar, Cicero, Virgil, Horace, Homer, 
and to scores of books which have told me 
many wise things. I suppose I must say 
wise. But Downie, let me tell you some 
things which have come to my mind when 
I learned the “Concept of Geomety, ” 
points, lines, surfaces and solids; the beau- 
tiful curve, the line of beauty, recalled to 


THISTLEDOWN. 


77 


me your graceful sweep through the air; 
the surface of illimitable sky was ever 
before me; equations seem stiff in com- 
parison with your perfect poise; the 
songs of Homer and of Virgil have not been 
half so sweet to me as the little bird songs 
to which you and I have listened under 
this dear old tree. I confess to you that 
intellectual gratification does not satisfy 
the homesickness of my heart. You did 
not think I had forgotten you, did you? 
However far away I am, I cannot forget 
that you pointed me to the sky. Do not 
go yet, must you? ’ ’ I watch the grace- 
ful form of my little friend, as with one 
swift daring flight it goes out of sight. 

It is free from care and has no stern 
word duty to urge it on to hard work. The 
old copy comes to me now “There is no 
excellence without great labor, ’ ’ and I see 
the cramped nervous scrawl, each line 
more unlike the copy. There is no ex- 
cellence with great labor in my case, for 
my hand writing is unpromising. The 
big man comes with one eye squinted 
knowingly; he seems to speak to the air. 


78 


THISTLEDOWN. 


but I catch the words: “We are not 
born with skilled hands, nor with trained 
minds; we are carried to our beginnings; 
we creep to our first effort, and we stum- 
ble in our first real accomplishment. We 
must grow into the little ability we shall 
ever possess. We must toil if we ascend 
We must work in the earth if we raise a 
single flower. Flowers are never ready 
made, for they come to their bloom 
through cold and dark, and heat and dry. 
Even Thistledown has gone through all 
the stages of growth before it is light 
enough to be carried on the gentlest 
zephyr.” I interrupt. “I like Thistle- 
down, but the ugly thistle with its horrid 
prickers has no charm for me. My little 
friend goes off as gay as if it were born 
on the most harmless of branches. I let 
it alone and it grew into the graceful 
fairy elf it now is.” 

I stretch out upon the grass and catch 
the shimmer of light through the leaves 
and feel that the sky is for those who 
have earned the right to ascend, but not 
forme. And yet my old “Downie” has 


THISTLEDOWN. 


79 


made me look that way with an unutter- 
able longing. 

THE WOMAN. 

Years have gone and I have scarcely 
said a word to my old friend. Thistle- 
down comes unexpectedly, and with his 
coming all the memories of the past rush 
upon me. I take up the habit of years 
and talk again as in childhood and girl- 
hood days. * ‘ Inspire my children as you 
did me. The mystery of the sky is not 
all clear yet. The soft, fleecy clouds lay 
in large banks against the deep blue sky 
as they did when under the old, sweet 
apple tree I made you my confidante. My 
life’s sun is past its meridian, and I feel 
sorry for you, old faithful friend, for one 
of these days free, boundless life will be 
mine. Hope now has a different coloring 
and instead of the brilliant hue of the rosy 
morning or the bright splendor of high 
noon, it is tinged with the more subdued, 
but no less rich and beautiful color of the 
western glow. I do not count success in 
life as I did when I studied my lessons in 


80 


THISTLEDOWN. 


the books. The old apple tree is cut 
down. It was in my childish fancy as 
permanent as the everlasting hills. I 
thought in my school days that philosophy 
and science would explain all the mystery 
that hangs above us, but when they have 
done speculating about life and power and 
heat and light they fail unless they fall 
back upon God. To touch life is to touch 
an unexplained mystery; to come to God 
through Christ is to come to eternal life. 
I triumph over you, my life long friend, 
for with the wings of faith I measure 
flight with you, and speed on, on, on, far 
beyond your ken or power, for I outstrip 
the limit of earth and, untrammeled soar to 
heavenly heights. But, Downie, you have 
been a good friend and we both soar as we 
were made to soar, you to an eathly, I to 
a heavenly vision. You were borne upon 
the prickly thistle; I was borne upon a 
checkered life of joy and suffering, of 
exaltation and humilation. But in my 
heart of hearts I thank you, Thistle- 
down, for your ministrations to me in the 
varied experiences of life. ’ ’ 






































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